


stay (don't leave)

by tarouhi



Series: seven hells in heaven [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Evil Albus Dumbledore, Except the twins, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Weasley Family Bashing (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:03:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarouhi/pseuds/tarouhi
Summary: Harry has known to not attach himself to anything, but he's free-falling without a stop, spiraling towards his end. There aren't third wheels to steady his pace, or rails to gain his weight.He's the Boy Who Lived, not the hero everyone idealized. Some, out of burning curiosity that begged to be sated, crawled towards his invisible cage. They took a peek, but never took him out. Until his eleventh birthday, he stays in a corner, hoping to cake himself with vile, disgusting bile to make sure they never look at him again.





	1. amateur

Warmth.

 

It was the first thing he could properly register. Overbearing warmth that nipped at his frozen skin, burning the mental ice that chained him.

 

Rippling from his scar and spreading towards every corner of his body, he knew it was unavoidable to feel the tearing of his soul. But that didn't mean he was giving it up without a fight. 

 

Before he could even do more with his limbs than just flail, before he could even  _see_ , Harry reaches for the closest thing with no restraint.

 

When his dull, no longer radiant emerald eyes finally blinked open, he faces the widened pupils of Albus Dumbledore. The expression was softened, pegged down several notches in hopes of not disturbing the boy.

 

"You shouldn't have survived."

 

Curiosity bubbled from the mere infant's vocal cords, unable to suppress the light giggles that proved the utter bliss of ignorance of a child who had no worries tying him down to the world.

 

Green light filled his blurry vision.

 

Laughter spilled from his pink, plump lips full of life that his parents never lived to see. Harry fumbles, urging his tiny feet forward but finding no anchor to attach himself to on the dirtied floor caked with mud and dried blood.

 

It was a natural instinct to peer through his lashes, gazing up at the elder wizard who held- and gripped harshly- onto an old wand. Dumbledore's mask was crumbling. Fortunately for the Headmaster, only a one-year-old witnessed the slow erosion, perhaps he wouldn't even remember this at all. _An extra memory charm to aid the process, maybe?_

 

Whilst swarming in his own thoughts, knuckles were whitened against his conscious will. Avada Kedarva had not gotten rid of the boy, what will?

 

A moment of silence passed by.

 

Then he gazes at the corpse of Lily Potter.

 

 _Yes_ , Dumbledore promises himself, heaving the youngest, and only Potter alive into his arms- Harry struggles, but not with enough force to break- and initiates his new plan.  _I'll have time to fix this._

 

In his mind, nothing could take the side of the boy thrashing in his hold, for another approach had already occupied his thoughts.

 

It was all for the greater good.

 

 

 

 

Fat, pudgy amateur hands crushed his throat. He doesn't bother with recoiling, because he knows all too well that he'll be caught again. When had his uncle truly worked his arse off half harder than Harry did? 

 

A second into envying Vernon Dursley's uncalloused hands made him sick. So he looked away.

 

He should've known better, he comments in his head, unaffected by the sharp slap that stung his skin and sent pricks of pain to his cheek. After all, Harry muses with a downcast gaze, he was to be seen.

 

"No... running." Dry, unwatered cords set off various alarms in his brain, his words coming loose and no sense of connection when he uttered the same words as his supposed blood relative, only vile disgust. ".. Obey." 

 

The rags that barely counted as his clothing hung off his fatless, nearly all bones body in shame. Chanting the short and precise words over and over, bearing the pain.

 

It was a routine he had long grown used to.

 

The sound of a zipper being yanked down pulled his conscious awake. An unwilling flinch had Harry's back coming into contact with a wall, and he realized how truly miserable he was.

 

"Stay where you are,  _freak_."

 

The last shine in his green eyes dulled.

 

If the residing neighbors of Privet Drive heard broken screams that evening, they knew better than to question.

 

Because ignorance was bliss.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a habit to claw at his skin with bitten nails until he could feel the burn.

No, he wasn't suicidal. He just needed a distraction, an anchor to keep him from drifting.

Harry shuts his eyes, back against the wall of the pitch black cupboard. An ache in his stomach had him internally yearning for any sort of food, but he knew better than to listen to what it said. How many days has it been? Despite the marks on his hand that he put every time before sleeping, the boy simply didn't want to believe that he'd been left alone for fifteen days.

Questioning where his abuser was, is that what his state of mind has come to?

He lets out a humorless laugh, its sound hollow and meaningless.

When Harry's body automatically slumped down without warning, he tears another line onto his hand.

Sixteen.

 

 

Twenty.

Harry would need to praise the Dursley's for their strategic, though out-of-character planning. As he sat in the cupboard, cramped with his legs to his chest, soft hums escaped his barely open mouth. The previous ache in his body had grown to a dull, buzzing pain that continued without relent. Ah, so they'd wait it out. Understandable, really, since he figured from early on that they didn't want to be in his presence in the first place.

Well, aside from his uncle, he supposes. Though that's a different subject altogether.

Absentmindedly, Harry drove his humming into soft whispers of lyrics he’s sure he never heard of before. The words caress his cheek when nobody else did, and provided him a coat of warmth and comfort. Content, he let his raspy throat take control.

Unknown to him, his unintentional hissing made his core reach with magic tainting and corrupting the edges, amplifying his voice to only the ones that could hear. A particularly magical garden snake coiled, head rising in caution.

“ _Speaker._ ”

It had been so, so long since one had appeared. The knowledge was born into each snake, branding and passing on information as the world developed. The snake, although possessing no knowledge of the origin of the sound, naturally slithered towards a house similar to the ones around it, drawn by magic.

 

A thud by his feet dragged his attention away from singing, in another language or not. Harry stops in his track, nonchalantly wondering if Vernon had come back. When there were no words or thrown objects, he willed himself to tilt his head upward.

Seeing a snake in his cupboard should’ve startled him more than it did, Harry thinks while reaching an arm out harmlessly. Maybe if he had a normal sense of mind, there would be an annoyingly stubborn voice in the back of his head scolding him for being reckless. But there wasn’t, so he looks into the serpent’s pitch black eyes. It reminded him of the abyss that a few story books spoke of, he thinks.

Then, perhaps the strangest thing of that evening, the animal flicked its forked tongue forward and curled around his outreaches arm. “ _Little speaker?_ ”

A tick of the clock’s hand outside signaled midnight, the noise heard clearer now that the shutter on his door was more open than before. What he should’ve thought was how unusual and _freaky_ everything was, like his relatives taught.

Instead, Harry’s emerald eyes, shining beneath near darkness, glowed and flickered between the snake and the marks on the same arm before dragging his nowhere near healthy nails against the skin. He watched as the animal drew back, unsure of the silence and action of its newfound human. ( _He_ alone was different. Didn’t chase him, throw rocks, or poke him with a stick until he got bored).

Twenty-one days since he had been left alone made the first time he discovered magic.


End file.
